On all his fellow-students and acquaintances the simplicity, frankness, and kindliness of Livingstone's character made a deep impression. Mr. J.S. Cook, now of London, who spent three months with him at Ongar, writes: "He was so kind and gentle in word and deed to all about him that all loved him. He had always words of sympathy at command, and was ready to perform acts of sympathy for those who were suffering." The Rev. G.D. Watt, a brother Scotchman, who went as a missionary to India, has a vivid remembrance of Livingstone's mode of discussion; he showed great simplicity of view, along with a certain roughness or bluntness of manner; great kindliness, and yet great persistence in holding to his own ideas. But none of his friends seem to have had any foresight of the eminence he was destined to attain. The Directors of the Society did not even rank him among their ablest men. It is interesting to contrast the opinion entertained of him then with that expressed by Sir Bartle Frere, after much personal intercourse, many years afterward. "Of his intellectual force and energy," wrote Sir Bartle, "he has given such proof as few men could afford. Any five years of his life might in any other occupation have established a character and raised for him a fortune such as none but the most energetic of our race can realize [18]."
[18] Good Words, 1874, p. 285.
But his early friends were not so much at fault. Livingstone was somewhat slow of maturing. If we may say so, his intellect hung fire up to this very time, and it was only during his last year in England that he came to his intellectual manhood, and showed his real power. His very handwriting shows the change; from being cramped and feeble it suddenly becomes clear, firm, and upright, very neat, but quite the hand of a vigorous, independent man.
Livingstone's prospects of getting to China had been damaged by the Opium War; while it continued, no new appointments could be made, even had the Directors wished to send him there. It was in these circumstances that he came into contact with his countryman, Mr. (now Dr.) Moffat, who was then in England, creating much interest in his South African mission. The idea of his going to Africa became a settled thing, and was soon carried into effect.
"I had occasion" (Dr. Moffat has informed us) "to call for some one at Mrs. Sewell's, a boarding-house for young missionaries in Aldersgate street, where Livingstone lived. I observed soon that this young man was interested in my story, that he would sometimes come quietly and ask me a question or two, and that he was always desirous to know where I was to speak in public, and attended on these occasions. By and by he asked me whether I thought he would do for Africa. I said I believed he would, if he would not go to an old station, but would advance to unoccupied ground, specifying the vast plain to the north, where I had sometimes seen, in the morning sun, the smoke of a thousand villages, where no missionary had ever been. At last Livingstone said: 'What is the use of my waiting for the end of this abominable opium war? I will go at once to Africa.' The Directors concurred, and Africa became his sphere."
It is no wonder that all his life Livingstone had a very strong faith in Providence, for at every turn of his career up to this point, some unlooked-for circumstance had come in to give a new direction to his history. First, his reading Dick's Philosophy of a Future State, which led him to Christ, but did not lead him away from science; then his falling in with Gutzlaff's Appeal, which induced him to become a medical missionary; the Opium War, which closed China against him; the friendly word of the Director who procured for him another trial; Mr. Moffat's visit, which deepened his interest in Africa; and finally, the issue of a dangerous illness that attacked him in London--all indicated the unseen hand that was preparing him for his great work.
The meeting of Livingstone with Moffat is far too important an event to be passed over without remark. Both directly and indirectly Mr. Moffat's influence on his young brother, afterward to become his son-in-law, was remarkable. In after-life they had a thorough appreciation of each other. No family on the face of the globe could have been so helpful to Livingstone in connection with the great work to which he gave himself. If the old Roman fashion of surnames still prevailed, there is no household of which all the members would have been better entitled to put AFRICANUS after their name. The interests of the great continent were dear to them all. In 1872, when one of the Search Expeditions for Livingstone was fitted out, a grandson of Dr. Moffat, another Robert Moffat, was among those who set out in the hope of relieving him; cut off at the very beginning, in the flower of his youth, he left his bones to moulder in African soil.
The illness to which we have alluded was an attack of congestion of the liver, with an affection of the lungs. It seemed likely to prove fatal, and the only chance of recovery appeared to be a visit to his home, and return to his native air. In accompanying him to the steamer, Mr. Moore found him so weak that he could scarcely walk on board. He parted from him in tears, fearing that he had but a few days to live. But the voyage and the visit had a wonderful effect, and very soon Livingstone was in his usual health. The parting with his father and mother, as they afterward told Mr. Moore, was very affecting. It happened, however, that they met once more. It was felt that the possession of a medical diploma would be of service, and Livingstone returned to Scotland in November, 1840, and passed at Glasgow as Licentiate of the Faculty of Physicians and Surgeons. It was on this occasion he found it so inconvenient to have opinions of his own and the knack of sticking to them. It seemed as if he was going to be rejected for obstinately maintaining his views in regard to the stethoscope; but he pulled through. A single night was all that he could spend with his family, and they had so much to speak of that David proposed they should sit up all night. This, however, his mother would not hear of. "I remember my father and him," writes his sister, "talking over the prospects of Christian missions. They agreed that the time would come when rich men and great men would think it an honor to support whole stations of missionaries, instead of spending their money on hounds and horses. On the morning of 17th November we got up at five o'clock. My mother made coffee. David read the 121st and 135th Psalms, and prayed. My father and he walked to Glasgow to catch the Liverpool steamer." On the Broomielaw, father and son looked for the last time on earth on each other's faces. The old man walked back slowly to Blantyre, with a lonely heart no doubt, yet praising God. David's face was now set in earnest toward the Dark Continent.